WE GET back to the barn around dinnertime. As we’re brushing out the horses, my dad’s truck rumbles up the driveway.
Hiro looks like he’s ready to bolt. “Should I go?”
“No, I want my dad to meet you.”
“You’re sure about that?”
“I met your parents. You should meet my dad.”
Hiro stands up straighter, brushes at his shirt, and adjusts his hat. I feel as nervous as he looks. “Is he going to kick my ass?” he asks, eyes wide.
“He’d have to go through me.”
“Berlin?” my dad calls.
“Back here,” I call back, hands shaking.
My dad notices Hiro, and his pace slows like he’s happened upon a rattlesnake in the woods.
“This is my friend, Hiroku,” I tell him.
Dad nods and cautiously holds out his hand. Hiro shakes it. “Nice to meet you, sir.”
“You too. Hiroku, was it?”
“Just Hiro is fine.”
“We went riding,” I tell Dad, and then because I’m nervous, “Waterholes on the south side of the creek are full, if we want to move the herds over next weekend.”
“Good. Is your… friend staying for dinner?”
“No, sir,” Hiro replies. “I’ve got to get going. Thanks for the ride, Berlin.” He pats my shoulder. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Webber.”
“You too, Hiro.”
I walk Hiro out front to where his bike is parked and kiss his cheek. I’d rather kiss his mouth, but I don’t want my dad to come around the corner and find us making out. That’s not how I want this thing to go down.
“Thanks for the hat and… other things,” Hiro says with a smirk.
My eyes drift down to his groin and back, warm memories of the afternoon floating through my mind. “You’re welcome.”
I watch him ride off with a sinking feeling in my gut, then collect my courage. If Hiro can be honest about who he is, then I can too. When I get back to the barn, Dad has taken over putting the horses away. I fork some fresh hay into the stalls while he fills their water buckets. As we work in silence, the tension mounts, like he’s waiting for me to speak.
“So that’s your friend?” Dad finally asks, standing with his arms crossed. I’m bigger than my dad, but we have similar builds and hair color, the same tendency to keep things to ourselves, a Webber trait. My mother used to say that if she didn’t talk, there’d be no conversation at all.
I plant the pitchfork in a pile of hay and wipe the sweat from my forehead. “Yeah.”
“You guys see each other a lot?”
“Enough.”
“Trent know about him?”
“Trent doesn’t know we’re friends.” I told him that already. Dad squints at me as if trying to understand better.
“What about Coach Cross and the rest of your team?” he asks, like I need their approval.
“Nope.”
He grunts, which says more than words. “You think that’s wise, son?”
“Which part? Our friendship or the fact that I’m keeping it from the team?”
“All of it.”
“Probably not.” Like Hiro said earlier, I haven’t really thought this through. I just know what I want. I couldn’t stop seeing Hiro if I tried.
“Football still important to you?” Dad asks. “Getting a scholarship?”
“You know it is.”
“Seems like at some point, you’re going to have to make a choice.”
He’s talking logistics, but what I really want to know is how he feels about it. About me.
“Forget football for a minute, Dad. What do you think? About me… and Hiro, together.” I swallow tightly. “More than friends.”
Dad takes off his hat and wipes his arm across his forehead. “I don’t know what to think, son. Seems risky. And unnatural. I mean, it’d be a whole lot easier to find an Asian girl.”
Unnatural. I don’t like that word. It makes it seem perverse and sinful. It’s the word Pastor Craig uses. This isn’t a choice I made, any more than Dad choosing to love women. It’s part of who I am. Like Hiro said, a big part. Everything I’ve done up until now feels unnatural. Being with Hiro is the first time I feel like I’m not pretending.
“I’m not interested in someone like Hiro,” I say carefully. “I’m interested in Hiro. Because he’s a guy, not because he’s Asian. Because I like guys and I always have.”
My dad sighs like he’s been holding on to a lifetime supply of oxygen. “What can I say? I’m not thrilled about it. I’m worried. It’s tough out there for kids like you.”
“Are you going to kick me out? Try to stop me from seeing him?”
Dad looks insulted as he shakes his head. “Berlin, you’re my son. Part of being a man is making your own decisions and living with the consequences. I just hope you know what you’re doing. And that it’s worth it.”
He comes over and pats my shoulder like it’s any other workday and we’ve just finished doing a job together. Then, as if on impulse, he pulls me into a good strong hug. His embrace reassures me more than anything else. My eyes fill up with tears and I blink them away, suck back the emotions threatening to pour out. Webber men don’t cry.
“It’s past my bedtime,” he says, clearing his throat. “I’m hitting the hay, so you’re on your own for dinner. If you keep on with this Hiro kid, have him over for supper, so I can meet him properly.”
I swipe at my eyes. I figure I better tell him now and get it over with. “Something else you should know, Dad. Hiro’s a vegetarian.”
Dad groans and throws up his hands. “Course he is.”
I watch him walk toward the house. It feels like a huge weight has been lifted off my chest and I can take a full breath again, maybe for the first time in my life. I’m not hiding it anymore, at least not from my dad. It makes me want to shout it from the barn rafters. I’m gay. Not maybe, not possibly, but definitely, positively. Hiro’s my boyfriend, and my dad knows it.
I wish my mom were here, too, so I could tell her and she could meet Hiro herself. And then I think, maybe she is.
Yeah, she is.
Hiroku
I GET Berlin’s text on my way home, but I don’t check it until I’ve docked my bike.
Told my dad I’m gay.
What?! How was it?
Good. He wants to have you over for dinner.
I’m there.
My smile feels like it’s too big for my face to think Berlin has finally come out to his dad. That took guts. I knew he could do it.
I’m so proud of you.
Thanks. I had a great weekend.
Me too.
I throw a few emojis in there for good measure. My rib cage feels like it’s too small to contain all the good feelings I’m having. Berlin is like, perfect. Gorgeous, strong, kind and caring. And he likes me too. I still can’t believe it. If I were the gay bachelor, I’d choose Berlin a hundred times over.
I go inside and review three missed calls from my sister. My mom notices the cowboy hat immediately and wants to know if Berlin gave it to me. Then she wants to hear all about our date. I edit out the sexy times. My dad’s been called into the office, so we eat leftovers on TV trays in the living room while my mom watches her soap operas. She loves Telemundo and has picked up a lot of Spanish from all the novelas she watches. Halfway through eating, Mai calls me again, and I take it up to my room.
“Tell me everything,” she says. Ever since I broke up with Seth, we’ve become close again. I used to confide in her, but then around the time she left for Columbia, I started snorting painkillers and having to sneak around because my mom got hip to the fact that the fights I was getting into weren’t happening at school.
So I tell Mai about how Berlin cooked a million vegetables for me last night, then took me horseback riding today, and how he came out to his dad this afternoon.
“He’s totally getting a rose,” she says with a happy sigh. “He sounds really nice, Hiroku, and Mom likes him.”
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“I like him too, Mai.” I feel it in my chest, pride or something, that I have someone like Berlin in my life. “I wish you were here to meet him.”
“I can’t wait, especially after that picture.”
I laugh at that. “Yeah, you’re welcome.”
I spend the rest of the night catching up on homework and downloading footage from the football game on Friday night. I keep coming back to the videos of Berlin. I want to create something really cool with the game footage. Something radical and different. I need more material, though, and to be honest, I wouldn’t mind checking out another game. The vision will come to me. It always does.
MONDAY MORNING is the usual drill: pull into the high school parking lot, pass by Berlin like we’re strangers, hit up my locker to find some hateful note stuffed inside it. Today it’s God hates fags. This is exactly the kind of bullshit I was telling Berlin about, people using religion to justify their own intolerance, often toward a bloody, violent end.
Berlin thinks I should lay off Trent? If Berlin only knew the half of it. I crumple the note and toss it into the nearest garbage can. With the exception of gym, I keep my camera on me all day long, because I don’t trust my locker. They can gay-bash me all they want, but if anyone touches my camera equipment, I’ll lose my shit.
As I leave my locker, one of the football players shoves me from behind. I recover before I bust my ass completely. Jesus, if it weren’t for Berlin, I’d have dropped out of Lowry by now.
In Digital Arts, I actually feel calm and safe. The kids are cool, artsy types like me, and brighter than your average Lowry Lion. It’s like an island of awesome in a sea of suck. They want to see my rough cut of the football game, but I tell them it isn’t ready yet. Instead I give them highlights from a swim meet, which is pretty rad because I got to use the school’s underwater camera. I also added all these bubbling noises to some very atmospheric music and sped up and slowed down the tempo so the dives and laps look really cool, like an underwater ballet.
There’s a guy in my class named Spencer, who I think might be gay. He’s on the chubby side, with red hair and a sprinkle of freckles across his nose. Kind of looks like Ed Sheeran. He keeps going on and on about how awesome the video is. Then later, when everyone goes back to doing their own thing at their computer stations, he sits down next to me and asks what I’m doing Friday night.
“I have to shoot the game,” I say. Though technically not an assignment, I’m working overtime to make the football video really special, partly for Berlin, but also to flex my chops.
“You want to hang out after?” he asks. “I know a good Vietnamese restaurant in Dempsey.”
I glance over at him. I can’t believe someone else knows my restaurant. My next thought: is he asking me out on a date, or just as friends? One thing about being with Seth is that everyone at my old school knew we were together, even after he graduated. When people asked me to do stuff, I always knew they weren’t looking to hook up.
I study my hands resting on the keyboard. “I’m seeing someone.” I don’t know if Berlin and I are exclusive, but I’m not interested in being romantically involved with anyone else.
Spencer pulls up his chair and leans in closer. “Someone at school?” he whispers.
“No,” I say a little too sharply. “He’s older.” Another lie to protect him. And us.
“Well, I’d still like to hang out,” he says. “You’re, like, the coolest thing to happen to the gay community in Lowry since Colton Haynes came out.”
I didn’t realize there was a gay community in Lowry, but it makes sense that it would have to be more skull and bones than my old school. One more friend at Lowry means one less enemy.
“You want to shoot the game with me on Friday?” I ask him. I could use a second angle. “We can go get dinner after.” Berlin has his ritual barbeques anyway. We never get together until late.
“Yeah, sounds great.”
I’m feeling pretty good after that. Calculus is uneventful, and then it’s Team Sports with the bigot brigade. In the locker room, I always change with my back to them, in case they think I might be trying to check them out, which I never do because I’m not a pervert. But it means I’m not able to see what’s going on, which makes me an easy target.
They’re talking about what they did over the weekend, who hooked up with who, various girls and their physical attributes that are either pleasing to them or not. That’s the polite way of putting it. It seems there is always a keg party and they’re always invited. Their lives seem kind of monotonous to me, but I suppose there’s safety in that groupthink, not having to make your own decisions or go it alone. Berlin never does much of the talking, something I’ve noticed about him. He talks more to me than I’ve ever heard him say to his friends, which is a shame, because he has really intelligent, insightful thoughts. Trent asks Berlin why he didn’t show up to the party. Berlin tells him he wasn’t feeling well, that he might have had a bug, so he stayed in all weekend. I wonder how many times that excuse is going to work.
“You keep ditching us like that and I’m going to start taking it personal,” Trent says. Maybe it’s my own experience with him, but to me it sounds like a threat.
Like always, once we get into the gym, Coach Gebhardt makes two guys team captains and we do the whole asinine picking teams thing. I’m never a captain, even though I’m one of the better players. The first couple of weeks of school I always got picked last, but since my teams keep winning, I now get picked midway through. Usually it’s something like, “Fine, I’ll take Hiroku,” like I’m some kind of handicap, or in Trent’s case, it’s “Come on, Faggy.” But I’m never picked first.
Today Coach assigns Berlin and some other kid they call Anderson as team captains. I have the uninterested thing down already. I glance at the floor, the wall, the baskets, but I don’t look at Berlin. Not ever, because chances are, he’s already looking at me.
“I’ll take Hiro.”
I glance up. Berlin picked me first, over Trent and the rest of his cronies. And he used the nickname that’s only for him. Has he already forgotten our conversation about keeping this thing under wraps? I slouch over and act like it’s no big deal.
“What the fuck, Berlin?” Trent says.
“Sorry, man, he’s good,” Berlin says by way of an excuse, because there has to be a reason to pick the gay kid. That’s the crazy double life Berlin’s living, and by extension, me as well. The whole situation irritates the shit out of me. With Seth and the drugs, I got good at lying, but it was never something I liked. I hate being dishonest, and here I am doing it again.
I stand there looking bored while the rest of the teams are picked. Anderson picks Trent first, even though he sucks at basketball. The kid has no mobility. I suppose that’s why he always throws the ball or gives it to Berlin in a football game. I don’t think he’s gained five yards on his own all season.
The basketball game starts. Trent’s up to his usual tricks, talking shit, using his weight to shove me around, sometimes even when I don’t have the ball. He keeps trying to trip me when Coach’s back is turned. Despite all of it, I keep scoring on him. If he paid more attention to the game and less on fouling me, he might be able to block some of my shots.
After a particularly pretty three-pointer, Berlin says, “Nice one, Hiro” and nudges my shoulder playfully. Trent catches it, and I can tell his wheels are turning. Meanwhile, Berlin plays on, completely oblivious. Toward the end of the game, I’m pretty stressed, which makes me irritable. With the score tied, Trent shoves me again.
Berlin points at Trent to get Coach’s attention. “Foul.”
“The fuck, Berlin?” Trent shouts. Berlin has broken the bro code again.
“You’ve been fouling him all game,” Berlin fires back. “You weren’t even going for the ball that time.”
“Free throw,” Coach yells.
Trent whispers slurs while I take aim. The rest of the guys snicker.
“Cut it out.
He’s on our team,” Berlin says to our teammates.
“He’s on your team, huh?” Trent says, insinuating who knows what. Berlin doesn’t blush this time, thank God. He does look like he wants to tear Trent’s head off.
I block them out and focus on the basket. I have the opportunity to get the winning shot. If I miss, it might defuse the situation, but I fucking hate Trent and I have something to prove. I take the shot and make it, winning the game for our team.
Berlin comes over like he’s going to pull me into a bear hug, and I give him the look of death. He turns and congratulates his teammates instead. They all suck each other off with their ego stroking. I’ve had enough of this bullshit for one day.
I head to the lockers, take the shortest shower of my life, and jet out of the locker room. I think about texting Berlin, but knowing him, he’ll let Trent check his phone for him.
My adrenaline is still thrumming from the game as I dial the combination on my locker. I pull it open. A hand comes out of nowhere and slams it shut.
“Hello, Faggy,” Trent whispers in my ear. He’s still wearing his gym clothes and he smells like BO. He skipped showering just to stalk me. What a fucking creep.
“Hello, Trent.” I turn slightly and make myself look casual while taking a solid stance to have the best chance to defend myself. I got lucky in the locker room that one time. Trent’s head was turned and he wasn’t expecting it. Physically, Trent can overpower me in a heartbeat. Trent’s left arm lingers over my shoulder. For as much as he claims to detest gays, he sure does like to get all up in my personal space.
“You like my boy Berlin, Faggy?” he asks me.
I learned how to pretend I don’t give a shit with my dad and then later with Seth. I know better than to deny it. Denial implies guilt. “Yes, Trent, homophobic jocks are a real turn-on for me.”
Trent moves closer, his left arm crowding my shoulder. “Why’d he pick you first today?” Trent asks me.
“You mean why’d he pick me over you? Maybe because you fucking suck at basketball. I don’t know if you got the memo, but the point of the game is to get the ball into the basket.” If I insult him enough, maybe he’ll direct his anger at me and forget about Berlin.
The Bravest Thing Page 11